Downton's Scottish Dragon
by Bremol
Summary: Set somewhere in Series 3 episode 2, so beware, there be spoilers. Elsie seeks out a friend in the middle of the night when sleep seems to be elusive.


A/N: This is my first Downton Abbey fic. I just in the last few weeks have watched all of the series (1,2, and 3) thanks to the internet. I'm an American, so things may be phrased differently, but there isn't much dialogue, so there shouldn't be much confusion. I love Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, there's something there even though there isn't anything specifically shown by the writers.

When I saw episode 2 of Series 3, I knew I would wind up writing a fic about it. I'm the daughter of a woman who died from breast cancer, so the subject matter touched me. This is the result of the thoughts that rambled in my head.

* * *

Elsie Hughes was not a woman given to shows of emotion; Stoic Scot and all of that nonsense. A sob caught in her throat – the Scottish Dragon. She wiped at the tears on her cheek as she sat up. Staring down at her feet, another sob caught in her throat…she may be all of those things, but right now she was a woman who was suddenly facing being sick with something that might very well take her life.

The sobs were getting harder to control, and the need to sleep was nearly overwhelming. Knowing only one person who could hold her and soothe her enough so that she could rest, she slipped on her slippers and picked up her dressing gown. Pulling it on, she made her way quietly out of her room. Moving on weary feet and shaky legs, Elsie stopped and hesitated at the door that separated the women's quarters from the men's. Closing her eyes, another sob trying to escape, she reached out a trembling hand and turned the key.

Charles stirred at the sound of, he frowned, crying? Opening his eyes, he found Downton's housekeeper standing beside his bed. In the dim light of the moon, he caught the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. "Elsie?" he whispered in an uncustomary use of her given name.

Elsie swallowed back another sob as she reached out and touched his chest, his heartbeat steady against her palm. "Please, Charles," she whispered. "No questions, just," her voice caught and she closed her eyes. "Just please hold me."

Feeling her desperation, Charles sat up and pulled at the sash holding her dressing gown closed. "Slip off your slippers, Elsie," he told her softly as he helped her from the dressing gown, laying it at the foot of his bed before scooting over. Pressing his back against the wall, he held up the blankets, "Come."

Sliding into the warmth of his bed, Elsie felt him tuck the covers around her before settling back against his pillow and spooning his body against hers.

Grasping his hand and pulling it from her hip where it rested, she twined their fingers together hesitating only a moment before resting his hand against her breast. The gentle way his large hand cradled her breast, made her lose her control, her body shaking with the sobs she'd fought against so many times since discovering the lump.

His heart breaking, Charles felt helpless as he whispered her name, "Elsie."

The sound of her name whispered so helplessly made her turn in his arms, burying her face against his chest to muffle her gasping, choking cries.

Overwhelmed, Charles did the only thing he could. Wrapping his body around her, he formed a sort of cocoon and gently pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Rubbing her back, he hummed a lullaby his mother had sang to him as a babe.

Elsie, calmed, the vibrations in his chest from his humming, soothing her. Sniffing then sighing, she felt sleep claim her, and willingly gave in to the deep, peacefully dreamless state.

Charles continued to hum as he tried to comprehend what was happening. He'd never seen Elsie Hughes like this, not even the day she'd first arrived at Downton, a young housemaid whose brogue was so think, the others made fun of her and always shunned her in any activity they participated in when there was free time. He smiled as he thought about how he'd come across her one day, working with the housekeeper to perfect her speech. By the time she'd worked her way up to head housemaid, her accent was there…barely. But this…this sobbing, emotionally fragile Elsie was someone he didn't know.

What could possibly have happened to cause her to break? The only thing he could think of, he swallowed.

_Dear God_, he pleaded. _Please no._

The only thing that came to mind, the only thing he could think of that would make the stoic Scottish lady of Downton Abbey downstairs (something Elsie would scoff at…something he believed as surely as his name was Charles), was her health.

Elsie stirred in his arms, snuggling closer to his warmth, a shuttering breath touching his skin. Clutching his pajama shirt in her sleep, she settled again, unaware of the turmoil she'd caused in her friend.

Taking a deep breath, Charles closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind of the disturbing thoughts. He had to be awake and seem as though nothing had happened come the dawn and the beginning of his day's work. Letting his face rest against her hair, he inhaled the soft scent, knowing that he would never forget this night as long as he lived.

Come the morning, Charles awoke to find his arms empty. Opening his eyes, he wondered if it had all been a dream, but then he turned and caught the scent of her hair that still lingered on his pillow. She had been there. Her tears had been real. Her seeking him out for comfort had really happened.

And his heart broke all over again because…

Something was desperately wrong with Downton's Scottish Dragon.


End file.
